


every hour wounds

by kozume



Series: coin operated boys [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kozume/pseuds/kozume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>he paints himself in shades of grey and prays he blends.</i>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	every hour wounds

**Author's Note:**

> haha did u miss me  
> this is like a sort of continuation of [sharpen your knife](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4049686)?? its based in the same lil 'verse' so like you could read that first but i wouldnt say you _have_ to to understand whats happening in this fic.  
>  im just trying to plug my own work tbh.  
> anyways........ dont let my terrible grammar and use of punctuation here put you off i promise im literate enjoy!!  
> p.s: why do i hurt akaashi

Akaashi hated Bokuto for being smart sometimes. Most of the time he loved it – revelled in the way he would almost fluff himself up, a faint blush on his cheeks when people looked at him in awe as he explained a particularly hard bit of maths; grinned to himself when he heard the team whispering amongst themselves about him and asking the first years ‘did _you_ know Bokuto’s a genius?’. Smirked as he whispered praise against Bokuto’s ear and felt him squirm and flush beneath him.

But today Akaashi hated Bokuto for being smart. Despised it. Loathed it. Because Bokuto’s wonderful brain meant he was leaving. And Akaashi was being left behind.

* * *

 

Akaashi Keiji wasn’t always an only child. He’d had a brother until he was eight, and then he was gone. Overnight he disappeared from Keiji’s life along with pictures of them together and all the stuff from his room and entirely, it seemed, from his parent’s mouths and minds, and Keiji was left living with the ghost of Shintarou in his pocket and under his pillow and wherever he could hide the picture of them together from one Christmas a lifetime ago. He still kept it tucked behind his ID in his wallet, soft and fraying with age.

He’d died in a car crash a week before he was due to start university, and all Keiji’d seen when Bokuto bounded towards him, eyes bright and brandishing his acceptance letter, was Shintarou barrelling through their front door, telling him ‘I got in, Keiji, I’m going to Kyoto!’. And where the joy should have been, the happiness and the pride and everything good, there was a black hole of dread and fear and the thought that even if he upped and went to Kyoto, still living and breathing, Keiji would still be alone; would still be rattling around his home and avoiding his parents and living with Bokuto’s ghost in his pocket, all pictures of them together residing in wallets and under pillows and away from his parents prying eyes.

So Akaashi does what works for him when things get a little too much – he throws himself into school and his parents expectations and avoids the things that hurt at all costs even though he knows he’ll regret it later. And Bokuto started to notice a lot sooner than he anticipated. It’d been barely a week since he got into Kyoto, and he was already shooting Akaashi sidelong glances, frowning when his hands were shrugged off of shoulders or when praises didn’t sound sincere. Akaashi knew it wasn’t fair – he’d helped Bokuto study for the exams that would ultimately send him away and had never been anything less than encouraging. But now that the pipedream had become a reality he didn’t want it anymore. He wanted Bokuto to stay and he didn’t want to be alone and he was allowed to be selfish sometimes, he was sure of it, as he trudged home after school, head down as he gnawed on his lower lip.

“Akaashi, hey,” Bokuto’s feet slapped against the pavement as he raced to catch up, huffing as he finally grew level. “Are you ignoring me?”

Akaashi blinked quickly, looked up, stared with his eyes slightly narrowed. His expression reminded Bokuto’s of his own when he was trying to commit something to memory. “No.”

“Well it feels like you are,” Bokuto pouted as they reached the end of the road, but brightened as he asked “hey, can you come over today? My mum’s teaching me how to cook a few things and I know you’re really good at cooking and I thought you could help! If you wanted to, that is. And then we can eat what we make and you could maybe stay over, do some homework and some other stuff.” The tips of his ears were pink as he finished and his eyes were firmly planted on Akaashi’s nose. He was so stupidly endearing it made Akaashi’s chest ache.

“I can’t, sorry,” he said, and Bokuto thought that, in a weird Akaashi-esque way, he looked anything but, “I have a violin recital coming up. My parents want me to practice every day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned sharply, eyes cast down, and walked away, leaving Bokuto a little lonely in his wake.

* * *

 

As the days crawled by, the guilt and anxiety ate Akaashi raw.

 _Bokuto_ , he thought as he sat in maths class, the rubber of his pencil bouncing rhythmically against the desktop.

 _Bokuto_ , he thought as he trudged home in the rain, avoiding cracks in the pavement lest he bring himself even more bad luck.

 _Bokuto_ , he thought as he lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and drawing patterns against his skin.

 _Bokuto_ , he thought as he watched birds flit overhead and disappear over the horizon.

For all he thought about Bokuto, he couldn’t stand to look at him. He managed glances across the court and skimming over his shoulders as passed behind him in corridors, but eye contact was a no, and so was touching, and maybe, he thought, he was getting used to not having him around all the time through some sort of cleansing. He may not have been looking, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see the dejected slump of Bokuto’s shoulders, or how quickly he gave up during practice without Akaashi there to motivate him. And Akaashi wanted to hate himself for bringing Bokuto down with him, but he couldn’t. Because now, at least, he knew that he wasn’t the only one feeling a little bit heartbroken.

* * *

 

“I won’t be able to make practice tonight guys, I’ve got to go shopping for uni supplies,” Bokuto said, grinning sheepishly, and Akaashi’s heart sank.

Bokuto had promised to attend all of their practice sessions, refusing to let go of them until he absolutely had to. And now he was backtracking, and this was the beginning of the decline that Akaashi thought he’d prepared himself so well for, but as everyone grumbled and complained good-naturedly and Bokuto laughed along, he realised the he was far from ready. He slipped away from the group, heading back into the locker room, and was so engrossed in finding his phone or a book or _something_ to distract him that he didn’t hear the door shut behind him, or someone approach him, and when said someone sighed he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Don’t do that,” he said before he got a good look at who it was, and he really shouldn’t have been surprised that it was Bokuto.

“How else am I going to get you to talk to me?” Bokuto was all hard lines and a steady, unwavering gaze that made Akaashi’s throat ache.

“Just do what you always do,” he replied, removing his back and shutting the door of his locker. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Nope,” Bokuto grabbed his bag, slinging it over his own shoulder as he took a step forward. “You’re going to talk to me.”

“Bokuto—”

“Akaashi.”

There was a moment of silence, thick in the air between them and around them and it was almost stifling. Bokuto’s mouth twitched, and Akaashi sighed.

“I don’t want to,” Akaashi said eventually, and it came out a little harsher than he meant it to as he stared over Bokuto’s shoulder. “It’s not a big deal, Bokuto. I’ve just been busy.”

He waited, still examining the wall, but Bokuto said nothing, and when he finally dragged his gaze away from the crack above the light switch, Bokuto was a mess. His face had crumpled, shoulders caved in, and while he wasn’t crying Akaashi could tell that he wanted to. The bravado was gone, and in its place was plain hurt.

“It _is_ a big deal,” Bokuto said, voice scratchy and raw. “This is important, Akaashi, and if you don’t care anymore you should have said something instead of just avoiding me and letting me think I’d done something wrong.”

Akaashi tried to talk but it didn’t really work, mouth working soundlessly around apologies and excuses and explanations that he’d failed to articulate so many times over the past couple of weeks. But he couldn’t, and Bokuto just smiled sadly at him as he held out his bag, and _no_ , Akaashi thought, _no this is wrong this is very wrong this isn’t what I wanted_ and he grabbed Bokuto’s wrist.

“I’m scared,” he blurted, and Bokuto blinked at him.

“Of what?” his eyes were clearer and Akaashi could breathe again.

“Of you going. I know I helped you with your exams and everything but I kind of regret it now because you’re my—” he swallowed, and Bokuto smiled because he knew what he meant, “you’re very special, and I’ll miss you a lot. And I don’t want you to leave.”

Akaashi wanted to tell Bokuto about Shintarou. Nobody else aside from family friends knew about his brother. He’d never really thought anyone else important enough to share the memory with. But Bokuto was so close now, his hands on Akaashi’s shoulders, forehead pressed to his, and Akaashi always seemed to short circuit when Bokuto did this – handled him so gently that he felt nothing short of precious.

“I’m glad you’ll miss me,” Bokuto said softly, “I was starting to think that I was the only one who cared, that you were avoiding me because you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore because I was leaving.”

“I’d never—”

“I know. I knew you wouldn’t, but you know me, always jumping to ridiculous conclusions.”

They stood for a moment, breathing each other in, clutching at sleeves and counting freckles and—

“My brother was going to go to Kyoto.”

Bokuto startled, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t anymore. He died a week before he was going to leave. Car crash. All of his stuff was in boxes already because of the move, and my parents just shoved it all out the door and it was like Shin had never existed,” he fumbled with the zipper of his bag, extracted his wallet and showed Bokuto the picture. “I think that’s why I was so scared at first,” Akaashi said slowly, carefully, because his voice was thick already. “Because Shin was going away and he was so excited and then he never left but he never came back either. And he was a lot like you. He was so happy and excited and he was my best friend and I can’t lose that all over again,” he swallowed hard, “and I’m not saying I think you’re going to die. But,” he shrugged, and blinked, and he felt tears slip down his cheeks and why did he always cry in front of Bokuto? He scrubbed furiously at his face, sniffing hard and trying to compose himself.

“I’m sorry, Akaashi,” Bokuto caught his wrists, ducking to catch his gaze, “I am. And I promise you I’ll do my best never to leave you that way, okay? And even though I’m going to be far away I’ll never stop thinking about you,” he let go of Akaashi’s wrists, cupping his face instead, “which is pretty much what happens now, anyway. But still. I’ll visit as often as I can, and I don’t want to leave you either, you know? I want to take you with me, but that’s not allowed, and I wish I’d gotten into Tokyo instead but I’m not _that_ good at maths yet, apparently, so,” he smiled as he kissed Akaashi, soft and sweet, and when he spoke again his words were brushed against Akaashi’s lips, “we’ll just have to make do.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: oikiwa  
> tumblr: deityirl


End file.
